Gromet's PlazaTG/CD Stories

Latex Suburban Housewife

by Misti Love-Fitzpatrick

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© Copyright 2020 - Misti Love-Fitzpatrick - Used by permission

Storycodes: MF; F/m; FF; Solo-F; tg; ts; M2f; D/s; latex; tease; denial; oral; collar; cuffs; leash; cons; X

Continues from

Chapter 5

Yusuf Barzigan, the businessman who was considering a major investment in the hedge fund where I worked, apologized for phoning so late from Dubai.

“No worries, Mr. Barzigan. I just returned from an evening out.”

“Please call me Yusuf.”

“Yes, Yusuf. I’ve used Mister and your last name as a sign of respect.” I put the Hitachi Magic Wand that I had planned to use back in its red velvet bag. It was a windy spring night. A steady rain fell. 

“I appreciate that, Patricia. But this is a personal call, not a business one.”

I feel indecent talking with him in the nude. I’m not sure why, but I do.

I walked to my closet as Yusuf reminisced about the first time we met. His deep, sexy voice washed over me, making my large breasts swell and my nipples harden. Fantasies of him kissing and licking lines around my areolas threatened to derail my train of thought. Cradling the phone with my neck, I slipped on a pair of white silk panties and my long robe, also made of white silk, with lace at the neckline. I tied the sash.

“First, I want to congratulate you on your transformation and would like to do so again in person. I’m so glad the world has changed to become more accepting,” he told me.

“Thank you. That means a lot, hearing that from you, Yusuf.”

He said he would be visiting the States in a month and asked if I would be available on June 10th.

“Are you asking me out on a date?”

“Yes, I thought we’d have lunch at my country club - and then I have a surprise for you,” he replied warmly.

I checked my phone, waited another 30 seconds to make him wait, and said I didn’t have other plans.

I was intrigued that he belonged to a country club, but I decided to hold that question for later. Instead, I asked the predictable question about what the surprise might be. He said it was a secret. I thought the call was winding down, but Yusuf said he had a question about Phillip Goldstein, my boss at the hedge fund and my Master.

“Could you do me a favor, Patricia?” Yusuf inquired.

“Yes, what do you need?” I responded.

“There’s a document that gives a snapshot of the firm’s hundreds of investments on a particular day, and an attached balance sheet. I know these are closely-guarded, but it would be helpful if I could get a copy for March 12th. I realize I just told you this is not a business call, but I’ll explain later why I’m asking for this favor.”

“I’ll work on it, Yusuf.” I found a pencil in a desk drawer and wrote down the date he had mentioned.

I felt my temper flare immediately. It was obvious Yusuf was using me to gain financial advantage. My darkest thought was that’s why he wanted to have lunch with me. I thought about the first item on the dossier that the hedge firm had compiled on him: “He often uses attractive women to get intel on companies.”

To fight my anger, I reminded myself of my job – to develop a business relationship with Yusuf, to help facilitate his investment in Mr. Goldstein’s hedge fund. All of my silly notions about romance disappeared. 

I did not display even a hint of anger or disappointment before the call ended. But the depth of those emotions – combined with my later perception that Mr. Goldstein had abandoned me – helped lead me down a path of promiscuity I had not planned to take.

A few days after I spoke with Yusuf, I moved into the Goldsteins’ mansion for my one-month stay to attend the “charm school,” which would help prepare me for having drinks with Yusuf. Mr. Goldstein’s confidante, Loc, moved my belongings into a bedroom on the third floor. The mansion was a four-story structure built in the 1890s, with a grand entrance and foyer. There were wings on each side of the main house. 

Mr. Goldstein returned from his business trip a week later. I met with him the following day in his office at work. He looked tired and having seen his itinerary, I knew why. I briefed him on several matters involving the firm. Item number one was Yusuf’s request for the financial data as of March 12th.

“He’s going for the jugular,” Mr. Goldstein explained. “The firm lost about $400 million that day; bad decisions, mainly by me. We’ll ‘leak’ him the records. He wants to know about my fuck-ups so he can negotiate a lower management fee if he decides to invest with us. He’ll think that you’re a naughty bitch for giving that info to him.”

I ignored his comment. Mr. Goldstein reclined in his chair and lit a cigar.

“I have something difficult to tell you, Patricia. I have decided to abstain from sex for a year. Judith has noticed that my attention to business has wavered. She’s wondering if I’ve become obsessed with you. The other reason is I want to devote more time to my spirituality. I need to clear my mind. By the way, it’s not the first time I’ve done this.”

Fighting off the emotions that suddenly gripped me, I asked if I had done anything wrong. I realized the question sounded pathetic.

“Of course not, Patricia. This was not an easy decision because of you. And please don’t be angry with Judith. It was my decision. I will continue to be your Master, but we won’t have sexual relations. I’m very sorry about that.”

The roller-coaster of my emotions had plummeted again. As I tried to process what Mr. Goldstein had told me, he moved on to the next topic. It felt insensitive.

“As you know, Cheryl filed a complaint alleging that you violated the dress code. I have dismissed her complaint. I have suspended her without pay for a month. I expect she will resign.

“I also will be sending an email to the staff, announcing that I have appointed you to the new position of administrator. I want to increase your annual salary to $90,000. Does that work for you?”

“Yes, Master. Thank you for the opportunity.”

Mr. Goldstein said he had to make a phone call. I walked out of his office in a daze.

My work routine included getting a latte at 3 p.m. at a small coffee shop a few blocks from the office. It was an opportunity to get a break from the crush of work. I enjoyed the walk, especially on warm, sunny days like this one when men and women could appreciate a leggy blonde in a short skirt and high heels.

As I breezed into the coffee shop, I spotted the Japanese man I had seen at the Victory Café when I had lunch with Brian, the ex-military officer who was in charge of security at the hedge fund. The Japanese man was alone and saw me in line. I knew he’d approach me. As the barista handed me my drink, I heard his smooth voice and turned to face him.

“Excuse me, Miss, I saw you the other day at the Victory Café. You may not recall me.”

“Oh, I do recognize you. I’m Patricia Vogel, pleased to meet you.”

He introduced himself as Yoshi Takahashi. He wore a blue suit with a maroon tie and looked about 30 years old. (I later learned my guess was correct.) He asked if I could join him and I followed him to his table in the back, away from everyone else. 

Mr. Takahashi’s style was direct, similar to the other cocky men I had met while working for Mr. Goldstein. He asked what I did for a living and how old I was. I said I worked at a hedge fund and had just received a promotion. He looked surprised when he learned I was 22.

“You’re a business prodigy. Congratulations, Miss Vogel,” he said, adding that he owned a shipping company that he had inherited from his father and lived in Tokyo.

“When I noticed you, I was negotiating a business deal with a Russian oligarch, but your beauty was a welcome distraction,” he said.

I thanked him and added: “I hope it had a profitable resolution.”

“It did. The name of that café was fitting. I walked out of there with a $100 million victory – the amount of the contract with the Russian firm.”

“Sounds like a reason to celebrate,” I suggested. “A friend of mine is hosting a small party at her place this Saturday. Would you be interested in going?”

Mr. Takahashi said he would and we exchanged cell numbers. I told him I’d text him the time and address. I said I had to return to work.

In parting, I decided to have some fun.

“You have a hot body,” I told him. He was surprised by my forward comment. I also told him how I got aroused as he slowly ate the olive from his martini at the Victory Cafe.

Back in the office, I enjoyed how I had knocked him a bit off-balance.

But the Japanese man, unlike Brian and my celibate Master, will fuck me in a heartbeat if he gets the chance.

I don’t know why it took so long for me to call my TG friend, Melanie, after my transformation.

We met during our junior year at the university. Our bond was the decision we shared to identify as female. It was not an easy call in a small city full of rednecks, racists, and close-minded people. We announced our decision to our friends on the same day and celebrated that night in the apartment we shared near the campus. The next day, we began to dress en femme in public as well as private and never looked back, even when hateful people called us “chicks with dicks” and “ladyboys.”

When we graduated, we decided to move to a city far away, where we hoped to live with acceptance and in safety. I was accepted to grad school and Melanie landed a job as an interior designer, with ambitions to start her own company.

On this spring day, as I picked up the phone to finally call Melanie, I recalled something Mr. Goldstein had told me that had struck a nerve. Talking about the Elixir, the potion which had caused my M2F transformation, he had said: “There are a lot of TG females who don’t want to give up their penis.”

I had replied firmly: “Well, I’m not one of them.”

 Melanie was one of them.

The phone rang several times as my heartbeat raced. Finally, she picked up.

“Melanie, it’s Patricia.”

“How are you, girlfriend? I sprinted toward the phone. I just got home from work.”

“I’m doing fine. I’m sorry I haven’t called you for so long. How are you?” I asked.

Melanie had a gift for reading my mind. People often asked why we weren’t lovers. We always said that we didn’t want anything to alter our friendship. The intimacies we shared were different than erotic love. On this day, like others, she could tell from my voice that there was something on my mind. Melanie suggested I come over.

“I will, but I need to tell you something first - because you won’t recognize me when you see me. I’ve undergone a complete M2F transformation,” I said, working to corral my emotions. I explained how my appearance had changed, but I felt like the same person I always had been.

“That’s wonderful, Patricia; it’s what you’ve wanted since we first met,” she replied. “Please come over now. I want to be with you.”

Melanie lived in a loft in the city’s Warehouse District, about a 20-minute drive from Mr. Goldstein’s mansion. She embraced me when I arrived at her door and we kissed.

“Patricia, you look great.”

“Not as great as you.” Melanie, who had just got home from work, wore a black dress with a white collar and jewel detail. It had three-quarter length sleeves with white cuffs. The dress fit perfectly to highlight her silhouette. She wore black embellished pumps. Her long, brown hair was in a ponytail and she had bangs. I told her I was jealous of how pretty and classy she was.

I realized that the last time I had seen her was the night I had met Mr. Goldstein at the dive bar she had picked. The last time we had talked on the phone, I had told her that he was opening a new nightclub and wanted to show it to me. That was the night of my gender transformation.

It took me three hours - and a bottle of white wine that we shared - to tell my story. For me, who’s not a big talker, that was an eternity. In our friendship, I was usually the good listener. On this occasion, the roles were reversed.

“Patricia, why did it take so long for you to tell me all of this?” Melanie asked.

“I didn’t know how to tell you I’m no longer TG,” I said, beginning to cry. Melanie hugged me. She made me feel protected and gradually restored my calm.

“You’ve been through a lot, Patricia. I love the decision you made and will be there for you forever. Why would you ever think otherwise?”

I said I didn’t know.

“Are you in love with your Master?”

I said I had special feelings for Mr. Goldstein, but not love. We talked about Yusuf and my attraction to him.

“What’s important is what you want – not what a man wants.”

I spent the night at her apartment. At the university, we shared a bed, talking until we fell asleep. This night was no different. I slept in the nude, as did Melanie. We kissed and explored each other’s bodies with our hands, but as always, we did not go beyond that. What was new was I fell asleep in her arms. I felt a newfound submissiveness to her.

In the morning, Melanie reminded me about the party she was hosting that Saturday.

“Can I bring two guests?”

Melanie laughed. “Two?”

“I have a goth friend named Alexis and I just met a Japanese businessman. I think you’d like to meet both of them.

I wasn’t without intuition. I knew a lot about Melanie, including what turned her on.

The day before the party, I texted Mr. Takahashi with the details of the party. I also gave him a heads-up that the host, my best friend Melanie, was a TG female. He confided in me that he had been in a relationship with a TS female and proudly supported transgender rights. I asked if it was OK if a friend of mine joined us.

Sure. Who is it?

Her name is Alexis. She works at a lingerie boutique where I shop. She’s a beautiful goth girl

What’s not to like?

I had a feeling that would pique his interest. Now, I had to convince Alexis to go. I succeeded in getting her to scrap her plans to go to a death metal concert that Saturday night. I told Alexis that Mr. Takahashi would pick us up in his limousine. We agreed to meet at her place.

I decided to wear a body-con dress I had bought at the boutique where Alexis worked. It was a gold foil V-neck bandage dress – skin-tight, sleeveless and with a micro-miniskirt hem. I wore all gold - bracelets on both wrists, long earrings; a thong, and platform pumps.

Alexis remembered the dress when I arrived at her condo.

“Fuck, baby, you’re the only customer who has bought that dress; not many have the body to pull it off. You’re among the few.”

As always, Alexis was a dark angel in black. She wore a skater dress in black latex – with a choker neck, cut low in the front and back, a zip front with a pentagram pull, a cap sleeve and an extra flared skirt. Her stockings were black fishnets and her shoes were Cemetery Lane high heels with an ankle strap featuring bat wings. Opera-length black latex gloves completed her look. 

Alexis had streaks of dark red in her long black hair. She wore pentacle earrings and a thick black leather collar with a D-ring. She had a nose ring and two piercings in her lower lip. Her mascara consisted of black lipstick, heavy eyeliner and eyeshadow.

“Tell me about this Japanese shipping magnate,” she ordered.

“Oh, I don’t want to spoil the surprise,” I replied sheepishly. Before Alexis could challenge me, I got a text that our limo was waiting and we headed down to the street.

Mr. Takahashi wore a gray suit with a navy-blue tie. We sat on each side of him in the back seat. As I introduced Alexis, Mr. Takahashi studied her appearance. She was accustomed to this; people checking her out, asking questions about what she was wearing, her tattoos, and whether she was a witch. It went with the territory, but she was glad that Mr. Takahashi didn’t go there.

As he quizzed me about the party, Alexis texted me.

Your Japanese shipping magnate is very handsome. He doesn’t seem freaked out by goth women

He’s not mine. And he may look bourgeois, but he has a very open mind. He’s had a relationship with a TS female and was very cool with Melanie being TG

As we arrived at the party, my jaw dropped when I saw Melanie. She wore a red rubber lingerie outfit, a cup-less bra with black tape covering her nipples in an X-pattern, matching booty shorts, and red leather thigh-high boots with a five-inch stiletto heel. Her dark brown hair was piled atop her head. Her mascara was severe, with grey-charcoal eyeshadow and black lipstick like Alexis.

“I love your outfit,” I told her as she welcomed us.

I introduced her to Mr. Takahashi and Alexis. There were about 100 people at the party, an eclectic mix of men dressed formally like Mr. Takahashi and others in punk and hardcore metal clothing; and women in outfits that ranged from fetish ware like Melanie to little black dresses.

There were two levels to the party. The fire escape provided access to an empty loft a floor below that had been renovated, but was not occupied. Melanie had a key because she was renting it for a month or so. As the party wound down after three hours, Melanie told me that she and Alexis were going to go down there to see who was “playing.” She invited me and Mr. Takahashi to join them.

The massive space had chairs and couches scattered around several structural pillars. The lighting was low and the techno music was set at a perfect volume, enhancing the ambience. Large windows offered a stunning view of the skyline.

We entered as two couples were having sex. The four of us watched from a distance. I saw that Melanie and Alexis were holding hands. They French-kissed as Melanie caressed the latex that covered Alexis’ ample breasts like a second skin.

That didn’t take long.

Mr. Takahashi placed his right arm around my waist. 

“Do you want to get closer?” he whispered in my ear. I said I did.

A middle-aged man sat in a large chair as a 20-something female gave him a blowjob. He nodded as Mr. Takahashi and I sat on a couch about ten feet from them. We watched for a few minutes and then Mr. Takahashi kissed me. We made out for a while, our tongues touching in a slow dance. It made me wet and feeling on the verge of losing control. Finally, he made his move, his right hand slipping under the hem of my dress to take my thong off. My pussy was soaked.

I stood up and he unzipped my dress, letting it fall to the floor. I undressed him and returning to the couch, I began to suck his hard cock. I had positioned him so I could see the young woman pleasuring her man. Her head bobbed up and down over his shaft. I looked into the lust-filled eyes of the older man for a moment - and then up at Mr. Takahashi.

I felt an enormous sense of release. My sexual desire had been building for weeks. Finally, I had a cock in my mouth, not a dildo. Although I had not known Mr. Takahashi long, I felt safe with him and of course, I was with Melanie and Alexis. They walked over and I looked up to see that Alexis was nude, her body white as parchment except for tattoos of Satanic images and symbols. Melanie held a silver leash connected to Alexis’ collar.

“Patricia, will you share?” Melanie asked me.

“Of course, baby.”

As I moved to the side, Melanie began to slowly lick Mr. Takahashi’s cockhead as Alexis gently took his swollen balls into her mouth. Then, handing his shaft to Alexis, her goth beauty sucked him. He began to grunt and move his hips. I could see his pre-cum, which both women were licking as soon as it oozed from his dick slit. They were expertly edging him, both of them licking his steel-hard shaft and then taking turns to suck him.

Mr. Takahashi’s head reclined and Melanie moved up on the couch to grab his wrists. He seemed shocked when she cuffed him. She then placed a thin, studded black leather collar around his neck.

“The night is young,” she told him. At her direction, he licked the black tape over her nipples and then sucked on her pert tits. Alexis had him on the brink, her tongue circling the edge of his cockhead, making it throb. She grabbed the base of his shaft and squeezed it hard, preventing him from coming.

“Not yet, Mister,” Melanie told Mr. Takahashi.

Sitting next to Mr. Takahashi, Melanie motioned toward Alexis, who pulled off Melanie’s red rubber booty shorts. Melanie’s clitty – her erect cock - was about six inches long, thick, and brown like her beautiful Latina skin. Alexis purred as she began to suck it hard, her lips pressing on the shaft. I could hear Melanie sigh as her new girlfriend showed off her cock-sucking skills

By now, other people from the party a floor above had joined us. A few came over and watched as I took my turn performing fellatio on Mr. Takahashi. Voyeurs thrilled me, as did the vision of my Japanese shipping magnate cuffed and collared. For the first time (but not the last) I felt like a porn star.

Like my two friends, I couldn’t resist toying with him. As he began to beg for his orgasm, I sucked him hands-free, his shaft sliding in and out of my mouth. I laughed. It was pure tease and denial. After half an hour of fun, I moved his cock between my big breasts. He tit-fucked me until he came, gasping for air and sending a large stream of cum into my cleavage that flowed to my neck.

Melanie came moments later, her semen shooting wildly onto Alexis’ forehead and hair.

Mr. Takahashi sent me flowers the next morning, beautiful white roses. He also texted me a few days later, saying he had to return to Tokyo but hoped to see me again. But by the time he returned to the States to cut more business deals, I wasn’t in the States.

A month later, I was in a limousine again, but this time I was alone. Yusuf’s driver was taking me to a suburb, about a two-hour journey north of the city. Melanie had given me a book for the ride, “Tess of the D’Urbervilles” by Thomas Hardy.

I had graduated from “charm school.” A procession of speakers visited Mr. Goldstein’s mansion and in a meeting room inside the Library, I got crash courses in oenology, the science and study of wine and winemaking; Persian history, and introductions to French and Farsi. The final lesson was in the kitchen, where Judith told me I had a gift for cooking. I appreciated her compliment and resisted the temptation to ask if she really thought her husband was obsessed with me.

To say I was tired of the hype about meeting Yusuf for drinks is an understatement. Brian had offered to provide security for me, but Mr. Goldstein told him that Yusuf would handle that.

The country club was located amidst rolling hills in a rural, almost dream-like setting. The driver told me where he would wait for me. A friendly, well-dressed man greeted me at the front door. He was the manager of the country club. I explained I had a luncheon appointment with Yusuf Barzigan.

“Yes, Miss Vogel. I will show you the way.”

We took an elevator to the second floor. As the doors opened, Yusuf greeted me with a kiss on my cheek.

“Patricia, it’s great to see you. Congratulations again on your transformation. You look more beautiful than ever.”

I thanked him and he complimented me on my outfit. I had chosen white and something I thought would be appropriate in the country club, having checked out pictures of it on the web. I wore a tuxedo blazer, a silk blouse, a pencil skirt with a hem two inches above the knee, nude-colored silk stockings, and white pumps with a three-inch heel. The look included light under-liner, red lipstick, and two items on loan from Judith - 14K gold teardrop earrings and a pearl necklace. I carried a white round clutch that had lowered my bank account by $1,500. 

Yusuf’s black hair, mustache, and beard were neatly trimmed. He wore an expensive, tailored suit from England – navy wool blend with a green paisley tie, and a white shirt of 100 percent cotton. His shoes were Italian leather. 

“Patricia, before we sit down for lunch, I need to confide in you about something. But you have to promise me to keep it a secret.”

“I promise, Yusuf.”

“I’m going to make a very large investment in Mr. Goldstein’s hedge fund, but I’m not going to tell him for a few months. The reason is I’m going to try to buy his hedge fund. I’m telling you now because I don’t want you to think I’m here for any reason other than you. I apologize for asking you for that information about the hedge fund,” he told me earnestly.

“I did get it. It’s in my purse.”

“No, leave it there please. I can get it from someone else. I never should have asked you for it. Do you accept my apology, Patricia?”

“Of course, I do, Yusuf.”

His apology changed everything. It caught me by surprise, a welcome one for a change. We were seated for lunch and as I glanced at the menu, I crossed my long legs and felt the friction of my silk stockings. My sexual arousal somehow felt different this time. 

He said: “I don’t want you to think I’m here for any reason other than you.”

Thrilled by this turn of events, I scrapped the script I had prepared under the supervision of the Goldsteins. The bad news is I had to scramble for a question. I asked about the country club.

“A childhood friend from Iran asked me to play golf here a year ago and I fell in love with the place. I didn’t consider myself a country-club type, but I became a member about a year ago. I love just about everything about this place, especially this restaurant.”

“It’s lovely,” I said. “Sophisticated yet playful.”

The restaurant was on a rooftop terrace with a 360-degree view of the stunning grounds that featured large trees and well-manicured lawns. The navy blue and white seating was plush, lavishly covered in houndstooth and velvet.

I asked him about his home in Paris and the conversation began to flow. He ordered a bottle of Dom Perignon and when it arrived, he offered a toast to my “new life.” It was so sweet.

I asked what surprise he had planned.

“After lunch, I thought we’d go horseback riding. I heard it was something you enjoyed when you were younger.”

I smiled. He had done his homework well. Riding was perhaps my fondest memory from what was a difficult childhood, given my gender dysphoria.

“Did Melanie tell you?”

“I can’t reveal my sources,” he said, smiling. I took that as a confirmation. I didn’t mind, naturally.

“I needed some help with what you would like to do,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, not at all. It’s very thoughtful of you.” I began to feel emotional about his gesture. Fortunately, Yusuf offered some levity. I might have started crying if he had not.

“Now, I needed to have riding clothes, boots, and other things for you and I will throw Mr. Goldstein under the bus. He gave me your measurements.”

I laughed. “He’s a dear friend.”

“And just a dear friend?”

“Just a dear friend,” I made clear. “He got those dimensions from his wife, Judith. I told her.”

Lunch was delicious and we took our time to savor it. After complimenting the chef, Yusuf showed me where the women’s locker room was. He gave me a key to locker #69. He said everything I needed would be there and if not, to please text him. We arranged to meet outside the men’s locker room in half an hour.

The women’s locker room was huge and empty. I opened the locker and found a navy riding jacket with gold buttons and subtle detailing on the front pockets; a white short long-sleeve blouse, white breeches, a black belt, knee-high black riding boots, a sports bra, and black riding crop and a helmet. I changed and put my hair into a ponytail that I draped over my left shoulder. The helmet fit perfectly. I was on time to meet Yusuf.

“Ready for the stable?” he asked. I nodded my approval. I complimented him on his riding attire, which included a hunter green jacket, white breeches, and brown leather boots. “I’m somewhat new to this. I expect you’ll give me pointers,” he told me.

“Yusuf, I started early, when I was nine years old, but I haven’t ridden since I was 16.”

We walked down a long path to the stable. The two horses waiting for us were beautiful, an Irish Sport Horse and an Appaloosa gelding. We walked them to a large pasture and I reveled in our surroundings. It had been so long since I had been out of the city. I suddenly realized how much I missed being in a rural setting. I listened to the sound of the wind, enjoyed the sun unobscured by skyscrapers, and rediscovered the rhythm of a horse’s trot.

Yusuf and I rode for two hours. He was working on using his seat so he didn’t rely on the reins so much. I helped him, explaining how over-using the reins can make the horse nervous. I tried to not check out his sexy butt in the breeches too much.

“You need to show your intention through your seat and legs,” I advised. We worked on it for a while and then returned to the stable.

There could not have been a better place for our first kiss. After putting away our tack, we made sure the horses were calm.

“Yusuf, I can’t tell you how much this meant to me,” I said. He looked into my blue eyes and smiled. I felt myself tremble. My inner voice told me he would be gentle. He kissed my lips with a lightness I never had imagined.

We walked hand-in-hand to the country club’s main building. Yusuf said he would join me for the limo ride back to the city. Returning to the women’s locker room, I took a shower, the warm water soothing as I washed my hair and the rest of my body. I used an extra towel to cover up as I walked from the shower stalls to my locker. Along the way, I saw a brunette in a sweat-stained tennis dress.

“I haven’t seen you,” she said to me. “Are you the new blonde?”

“My first time here,” I replied, ignoring her bitchy reference to my hair color.

“I saw you having lunch with Yusuf Barzigan. Do you live in Smithtown?”

I said I didn’t. She gave me a slight smirk. I gathered Smithtown was the suburb where the country club was located. I asked her for her name and she said it was Tamara. She looked around my age and had a sporty build, with arms toned by a strict workout regimen, I guessed with confidence. As she peeled off her white tennis dress, revealing her small breasts, her cell phone buzzed. I walked away, relieved to get away.

In the limousine, Yusuf answered my questions about his childhood in Iran and how his family moved to France. As we approached the Goldsteins’ mansion, he said he had a question for me.

“I’m close to finishing a complex business deal in the UAE. I have asked Mr. Goldstein if you would be available for a month on loan to assist me as my administrator and administrative assistant – your current duties at his firm and at an annual salary of $100,000. He has graciously said yes. Would you be interested?”

Kissing him was how I said yes.


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